Page 108 of Burn It Down

“Is everything okay?” Concern laces my voice.

He doesn’t answer, but continues to walk forward ever so slowly. I set the bags down on the small bench and crowd into the room behind him, finally seeing what he sees.

It’s better than I could have imagined. A deep red — almost black— patterned wallpaper gives the room a sensual feel. A cream-colored duvet is on the king-sized bed and matching cream curtains frame the doors leading to the balcony, but what’s caught his attention, immediately has mine as well.

On the far wall, facing us as we enter, is an incredible print of a face painted for Dia de Los Muertos. The person in the picture is a man, but I feel his connection to it nonetheless. A popular aspect of Mexican culture, the aesthetic surrounding itis embodied well by this hotel, and this room. Roses matching the color of the wallpaper are in a black vase on a shelf above the T.V. There are two chairs with a small table between them and my mind conjures up an image of Dylan sitting on my lap, sinking down onto me. The height of the chair would allow him to keep his feet on the floor which means more control for his speed and my depth.

“How’d you find this place?” he whispers, eyes still glued to the framed picture.

“I’ve passed it several times. Always wanted to stop in, but never had a reason to.” I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his neck. “Until now.”

A horrible thought suddenly occurs to me.

“Oh, fucking hell. Did I mess this all up?”

Perhaps since his heritage and cultural expectations are the particular demons he’s trying to overcome, choosing this place wasn’t the smartest idea. Like,here baby, since you’ve never allowed a man to fuck you because your Mexican grandfather was ashamed of you and convinced you only weak men take it in the ass, let me bring you to a place that shoves it right in your face.

Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?

I’m ready to yank him from the room when he spins in my arms and runs his hands along my back. “This is so fucking thoughtful. I love it and I don’t want to run from it anymore. It’ll be a good reminder that who I am is a Mexican American man with an incredible boyfriend who I love and trust and one of the ways I show that love and trust is by opening myself up to him. So, no, you didn’t mess anything up. This is perfect.”

Relief floods my veins as I remind myself this is supposed to be abouthim.

I nod, kissing his lips before issuing instructions. “Here’s what I want you to do. I rummage through the bags of items Ibought and hand him the bottle of lube before going over all the unsexy things I want him to do to himself in the shower in the next however-long-it-takes. “The more comfortable you are the better the whole experience will be.”

“Doesn’t this kind of kill the mood?” he asks, hesitantly reaching for the bottle of lube.

I push him backwards so hard he falls onto the bed. While he’s getting his bearings after the abrupt shove, I climb on after him, stripping my shirt over my head. Tucking my legs like a frog beneath me, I place one hand lightly around his throat, one hand on his pec, and rut my hips into his until I feel him getting hard in his jeans. Through his shirt, I tweak his nipple with the hand over his pec and smile when I feel his hips push up into mine.

Using both hands, I slide his shirt up his torso until he takes over and pulls it off, allowing me to lean down so our bare chests are flush against each other andfuck does he feel good.

It’s hard not to lose my mind when I’m on him like this, especially when his hands grip my ass, encouraging the rhythm and pressure he wants on his dick. But coming in our pants isn’t the end goal tonight. I tease him by hovering my mouth half an inch from his, backing away when he sits up to kiss me.

“Damn it, Jake,” he pants, fully turned on.

“Are you satisfied that I can get the mood back once you’re done in the shower?”

His head drops back on the bed and his erection is still grinding against me. “Oh, you asshole.”

I slide off of him, chuckling. “Go do as I said because I plan to fuck your ass so well, you’ll be begging me to do it all night. I can guarantee you’ve never come as hard as you’re about to.”

Thirty-two minutes later, I’m leaning on the railing of the balcony on my forearms, my hands hanging loosely over the edge, looking down into the quiet, urban garden, when I hear the bathroom door open inside. It’s a nice evening, fall’s coolertemperatures have really settled in since the moon has been out for a while.

I turn to go inside and find Dylan in just a towel. Small beads of water are still trickling down his chest in a slow cascade like they’re hesitant to leave his body.

“Goddamn,” I breathe when seeing him. He’s a work of fucking art. “Come here.” I hold my hand out for him as I walk toward him, wanting to take my time, but feeling the sense of urgency growing within me.

I grab his wrist and he allows me to pull him to my chest, but as soon as we collide, I walk him backwards until he’s flush with the wall.

He glances over my shoulder at the bed and I see the worried expression on his face at the towel I’ve laid out. “It’s for all the lube I’ll be using,” I reassure him, already knowing where his mind has gone. “It stains and while I’m happy to pay the cleaning fee, it’s also easily avoidable with the towel.”

“Okay,” is all he says at first, but then he adds, “Why are you still dressed?” The question comes out annoyed more than playful and I pull back to look at him.

“Because as soon as I’m naked I’m going to want to be inside you and we’ve got a few bridges to cross first. It’s better if he stays caged for now.” Dylan’s shoulders relax. He thought I was changing my mind. Deciding it will be better to prove my intentions with actions instead of words, I rip the towel open and let it fall to the floor. I run my hands down his chest and over the ridges of his abs. “You have to talk to me, Dylan. You have to tell me if it’s too much or if you want me to stop.”

“I will,” he agrees, panting against my lips.

“Did you follow all my instructions?” I ask slowly.

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